Where to Find Simple Peace and Joy
I remember crawling under the Christmas tree as a small child, before the packages were in place. Those first few years we didn’t have lights on the tree, we had a spotlight under the plate glass window shining on the carefully placed ornaments. I remember the warmth as I edged closer to the light. I found myself mesmerized by the scene from every angle, taking in every sight and smell. The cookies, packages, and multi-colored lights circling the house were magical. Our home even felt kinder on those days. We saw relatives, laughed more, and ate until it hurt. To say Christmas was magical was not an understatement.
As a young wife, I felt the pressure of making holidays something to be envied. Instead of a spotlight on the tree, though, I often felt as if a spotlight was on me. Even worse, I tied my worth to my ability to wow a crowd. The most complicated food and the largest batches of cookies paired with my husband’s ability to decorate an impeccable house and a tree that would have put Martha Stewart to shame. Speaking of Martha, I subscribed to her magazines, borrowed books from the library, and rented her videos long before her TV shows began to air. It was my way of making an impression.
Of course, this was perfectly charming until it wasn’t.
Somewhere along the way, I started to realize what I was really doing. My dreams were so big and full of unrealistic expectations that the joy began to drain out of our celebrations. There was very little peace on earth for us during those times. Sandwiched in between the stress were times to be treasured, of course–not all was lost. We built beautiful memories, but there was always something missing, even in the excess. Somewhere in our overcrowded schedules was a glimmer–the ability to see beauty woven in through less.
One year during an exceptionally busy schedule we made the calculated decision to pare down our celebration. We chose to eliminate the tree that year (although someone thought we skipped it for financial reasons and bought us one) and took a minimalist approach before it was chic. We went from tackling prime rib to creating tamales as a family. Some years we went to the movies with friends on Christmas or spent the evening played old board games.
Somewhere in the middle of these changes, I found something that sealed it all for me. I found a small treasure at an unlikely home décor store in an old tin building. Among the crowded display of ornaments, a tiny porcelain nativity hung from a branch. It spoke to me in a way an inanimate object never had before. The simplicity of it was its own story.
It was simply about Jesus. No flashy colors or details. Just a sculpture of a baby in a manger under a shed with Mary and Joseph. I held the cold porcelain stable in my hand, trying to contain my excitement. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I held a large story in my hand. A story of simple grace and quiet celebrations. My love for Christ doesn’t need to be flashy or showy. Peace isn’t found in the trappings and baubles. Joy isn’t found in entertaining. No, peace and joy are found in a lowly, far-from-flashy moment that changed the world.
That was the day my simple celebrations took on a deeper meaning. It wasn’t just about lowering my stress or walking away from commercialism. It became a way to connect with the story of Jesus. It pulled me into that moment, two thousand years ago in Bethlehem. The moment when an everyday occurrence, the birth of a baby in a location tucked away from the visiting crowds, altered the lives of us all. No fancy decorations or feast-laden tables needed. Just a simple story accessible to anyone.
is a passionate storyteller who writes of faith, hope, love, and food. She’s madly in love with her pastor husband and mama bear to two daughters. Grace is a fairly new concept she is exploring with her life and words. Mama Jem believes we should live gently and love passionately. You can find more of her writing at jemelene.com.
Photograph © Neely Wang, used with permission
